


Like the Humans Do

by Lydia_Eve



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22873462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Eve/pseuds/Lydia_Eve
Summary: It occurs to Crowley on the garden’s wall that it might be nice to touch his lips to the angel’s like he’d seen the humans do
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 159





	Like the Humans Do

It occurs to Crowley on the garden’s wall that it might be nice to touch his lips to the angel’s like he’d seen the humans do. He doesn’t. It seems a little ― he doesn’t know ― too personable, maybe. Moreso than their having a conversation in the first place. But he thinks about it. The angel smiles, laughs, and Crowley, who isn’t even named that yet, feels his chest expand with something he also doesn’t have a name for. When the angel, Aziraphale, shelters him with his wing, Crowley thinks that was almost just as nice.

A couple hundred years later the humans have populated the Earth quite well. Adam and Eve are not, of course, the only parents of humanity. There’s lots going on in Asia and the Americas, though there aren’t those words yet either.

Crowley sees Aziraphale in a market on a scorching day. The angel is buying figs and quietly blessing a cool breeze on some of the shop owners who are struggling to shade themselves under the dried palm leaves that frame their businesses. Crowley has got used to interacting with humans, but Aziraphale makes him hesitate, second guess himself like he doesn’t usually.

He’s still staring dumbly at the angel when Aziraphale turns and sees him. His smile is equally scorching.

“Hello, Crawly,” Aziraphale says, making his way over.

“Hi, angel,” he replies, smiling because he’s unable to help it.

“Have you tried these yet?” the angel asks, gesturing to the figs. “They’re simply marvelous. Humans even make them into a sort of paste and eat it with bread.”

“I haven’t,” Crowley says.

“You’re missing out, my boy,” Aziraphale assures him. “I was going to make some later, why don’t you―” Aziraphale stops himself, seeming to remember who they are.

“It’s all right,” Crowley says, helping him out. “Got places to be, you know.”

A small frown appears on the angel’s face, and Crowley needs to ― something.

“No, please,” Aziraphale says. “We’re both in the same business, be it on opposite sides. Come by this evening. I’m near the river if you take the eastern path.”

He says it like it’s already settled, so Crowley nods, and they depart with their plans for later.

Crowley spends the rest of the day in the market fretting over what he should bring to the angel’s tonight. He lets a shopkeeper convince him that grapes are a good offering (because that’s what it feels like it is) and around sunset, Crowley finds the eastern path and sets off towards the river.

Aziraphale has a fire going, despite the heat of the day that hasn’t ebbed all that much in the fading light.

The tent is largely open to the elements, really only providing a place to lay furs and skins rather than protect from any wind or rain. Terracotta pottery sits about the place, holding the aforementioned figs and bread along with pistachios and leaves that Crowley doesn’t recognize. Another pot holds a bunch of yellow flowers, though Crowley doesn’t think they’re for eating. He feels funny at the idea that the angel picked the flowers just because he liked them.

When Aziraphale sees Crowley, he lights up in another breathtaking smile. Crowley beams back.

“I brought grapes,” he says, holding them out to Aziraphale.

“Oh, lovely, thank you!”

It’s a little stilted at first, their conversation. Aziraphale talks about a birth of triplets that he recently blessed, but the littlest baby was too small to survive.

“I ended up concentrating most of the miracle on the mother to stop the bleeding,” the angel says, twisting his hands a little. “I knew the baby wouldn’t survive, but if she could, she would be around to take care of the other two.”

“Makes sense,” says Crowley quietly. Aziraphale is clearly in some distress about it, but he’s not sure if the angel wants comfort or not.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale says worriedly, and suddenly Crowley realizes the angel very much does want reassurance.

“If you’d help the little one live a few more days, it wouldn’t have helped his brother and sister any,” Crowley says. “Children need their mother. They’d have had no chance at all if she hadn’t recovered.”

Aziraphale nods, seemingly hanging on to Crowley’s every word. Unfortunately Crowley’s run out of words, and Aziraphale still seems upset.

“Hey,” Crowley says, reaching out to take Aziraphale’s hand. The angel starts, but a faint smile appears as Crowley takes his hand with both of his own, even if his frown doesn’t leave entirely. “You did the right thing,” Crowley tells him.

Aziraphale looks at their joined hands, and Crowley follows his gaze. They look good tangled up like that, Crowley’s thumb rubbing the side of Aziraphale’s.

“Is this all right?” Crowley asks, his voice low. He doesn’t want Aziraphale any more upset if it’s not.

Aziraphale nods. “Yes,” he says, but doesn’t offer any more insight into his thoughts.

“I recently met a brother and sister who were born on the same day,” Crowley says, “and now they travel the countryside putting on shows in every village.”

Aziraphale’s eyes brighten and he seems to like the idea of happier conversation. So Crowley tells him about their antics and how they taught themselves all sorts of flips and balancing acts, juggling pears around all the while. Aziraphale’s laughing by the end of the story, and even if it’s at the time when the sister tried and failed to teach Crowley to do a cartwheel, then Crowley’s glad his bruised shoulder can bring a smile to Aziraphale’s face.

They’re still holding hands when Crowley finishes telling Aziraphale about China. 

“Humans truly are remarkable, aren’t they,” Aziraphale says happily, watching the fire. They’ve shifted a little closer, and his leg rests a little against Crowley’s on the log they’re sat upon.

“Mmm,” Crowley agrees. He likes humans well enough, but he’s thoroughly engrossed with the curve of Aziraphale’s lower lip. The idea of pressing their lips together has never really left him.

“Did you like the figs, then?” Aziraphale asks, looking up into Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley can’t remember what the figs tasted like at all. “Well enough,” he says. “I was wondering about some other human things, though.”

“Like what?” Aziraphale asks.

“Like this,” Crowley says, and brings their mouths together.

Aziraphale’s lips are truly as soft as Crowley had imagined. Aziraphale pulls back just a little, then touches their lips together again just a little differently. It’s nice. It’s intoxicating. Crowley gets the hang of moving their lips together just so, and is thrown completely when Aziraphale slips his tongue into Crowley’s mouth.

A groan escapes Crowley then, unbidden. His body responds to the angel’s movements like leaves in a downpour. Aziraphale untangles their hands and winds them into Crowley’s hair instead, which is so much better. Crowley’s hands come up to hold the angel’s hips. He thinks he’s never touched anything so wonderful.

“Can we,” Crowley breathes between kisses. “Can we try that thing the humans do together. Oh, please, angel.”

Aziraphale laughs a little. “We need genitalia for that,” he says, though he’s kissing Crowley’s jaw as he says it. Crowley doesn’t think it’s a no.

“I can do that,” Crowley croaks. “Whatever you’d like.”

“Oh, no, my dear, just make whatever you’d prefer,” says Aziraphale, then he stands and pulls Crowley to his feet as well. Crowley’s led towards the tent like a flower turns to the sun.

Aziraphale unfastens his robe and drapes it over a branch in the tent. Crowley stares at the naked angel who is blindingly beautiful. A flacid penis rests between his legs, and Crowley wants to get his mouth on it at once.

He drops to his knees. “May I?” he pleads.

Aziraphale smiles, nods, and Crowley takes him into his mouth. It’s exquisite, the feeling of the angel’s cock grow hard with desire in Crowley’s mouth. He laps and sucks and is sure he’s getting at least some of it wrong, but Aziraphale’s panting hard above him, so he thinks he’s getting some of it right too.

“Oh, Crawly,” Aziraphale breathes, tapping his shoulder to get him to stop. Crowley pulls back and sits on his heels. “That feels so lovely, I must have you experience it too.”

Crowley just nods, stunned at how happy he is while the angel undresses him. Aziraphale hums happily when he sees Crowley’s recently manifested penis. Crowley feels dazed, like he’s been punched, but he hasn’t, he’s just in―

“Please lie down,” Aziraphale instructs him, and Crowley doesn’t hesitate to throw himself on the bed of furs. His cock is half-hard already, and he’s blind with the sensation of arousal, desperate to _feel_.

Aziraphale does something unexpected that leaves Crowley absolutely delighted. Aziraphale is on top of him, but upside down so that Crowley can continue to suck Aziraphale’s cock, which he does so immediately.

It’s when he feels Aziraphale’s mouth on his own cock that he think his heart stops. The angel sucks him down all the way, and it’s all Crowley can do to hang onto the angel’s hips and not ― what, he’s not sure, but he feels like the sensation on his cock is definitely leading somewhere extraordinary.

Aziraphale laughs a little at Crowley’s enthusiastic reaction, putting a firm hand on Crowley’s hipbone to keep him from thrusting.

“Sssssorry,” Crowley says, forcing himself to keep still.

“It’s quite all right,” Aziraphale says. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Guh,” says Crowley, who has never felt a fraction of what he’s feeling now.

They continue to suck each other. Aziraphale goes slow, which is a relief for Crowley who is barely hanging on to his concentration. Aziraphale feels so heavy on his tongue, and Crowley sucks, wanting more and more and more.

“Do you,” Aziraphale says after a bit, pressing another kiss to the tip of Crowley’s cock, “do you think you’d like it if I put it inside you?”

Crowley wants absolutely anything Aziraphale wants to suggest, but despite having heard humans talk about it, he hasn’t really witnessed much of the act aside from a bit of Adam and Eve through the leaves once before he slithered off to give them some privacy.

“Where d’you mean?” Crowley asks, propping himself up on his elbows when Aziraphale climbs off of him. His own spit-slick cock curves heavy up to his stomach, blessed. He’s sweating in the lingering heat, his whole body a red mistake, but Aziraphale touches him gently, like he’s worthy of it.

Aziraphale brings his lips back to Crowley’s mouth and snakes a hand down between their bodies while they kiss. His fingers stroke Crowley’s cock once, skate over his testicles, and find a new place a little further behind. Crowley’s eyes fly open.

“There,” Aziraphale whispers.

“Are you serious?” Crowley asks. His whole body is suddenly tingling with the idea, of the thought of being impaled on Aziraphale’s cock, of them being so deliciously intertwined.

“I admit I’ve never done this before,” Aziraphale says slowly, eyes darting between Crowley’s, watching his reaction, “but I’ve heard the humans describe it. It won’t make a baby.”

A startled laugh escapes Crowley, and then they’re both laughing. Crowley laughs into Aziraphale’s shoulder and steals another kiss there. He could stay here for years and never want for more, he thinks.

“Yeah,” says Crowley, “do it. I want you to.”

Aziraphale presses another kiss to Crowley’s mouth and begins to move lower. He kisses his way down Crowley’s stomach, adoringly as if he can’t get enough. He gently pushes Crowley’s legs up when he gets there, exposing Crowley’s hole. As if sensing Crowley’s nervousness, Aziraphale stops.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

Crowley’s trembling, but he’s all right. It’s so much, and he’s all right. “Please, angel,” he whispers, brushing his fingers through Aziraphale’s white curls.

And, oh, Aziraphale’s mouth there nearly sends him over the edge. Crowley’s fingers grip the furs below him and he cries out into the night. Aziraphale does something utterly magical with his tongue, eating Crowley as carefully and deliberately as he curled his tongue around those grapes earlier. Crowley’s shaking harder now, barely able to keep his legs up for Aziraphale. He’s aware he’s moaning without restraint, and oh, he can’t stop, he can’t―

Aziraphale pushes a finger into Crowley’s hole, and begins to fuck him with it. Crowley’s writhing desperately. “Az-ira-phale,” he pants. “Oh, _oh_ …”

“That’s it, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “You’re doing so well, just hold on a little longer and I’ll make it so good for you.”

Crowley pries his eyes open to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. He nods, trusting the angel, if not trusting himself not to fall over the edge he’s working towards.

Aziraphale adds another finger, stretching Crowley out, pumping slowly in and out. Crowley whimpers with the sensation. He’s so lost in it. Aziraphale works him open, works his fingers so deep into Crowley. He thinks he could die and be fine as long as he had this memory to hold onto.

After what feels like a century, Aziraphale removes his fingers and lies between Crowley’s open knees.

“God,” Crowley whispers, incoherent. “You ― angel, you’re amazing, you― God, I want you to.”

Aziraphale smiles, eyes bright in the low light from the fire. He lines himself up and pushes in so, so slowly.

Despite the work Aziraphale spent on him, Crowley still feels the stretch quite a lot. He squeezing his eyes shut as the sensation inches into pain.

“Wait,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale freezes.

But the worst is over, and he’s feeling stretched and _good_ and he wants Aziraphale in all the way.

Crowley opens his eyes to meet the angel’s worried ones. “Keep going,” Crowley tells him, “it’s all right now.”

He forces himself to hold the angel’s stare as Aziraphale slides in a little more, a little more.

Aziraphale is pushed in all the way and Crowley feels delirious with pleasure. Aziraphale’s still watching him for signs of distress, but there is none. Crowley just wants more.

Crowley manages a smile through his panting. “Yesss,” he says. “Please take me. It feels sssso good.”

Aziraphale pulls back a little and pushes back in, achingly slowly. They both moan together. Aziraphale has remained much more composed than Crowley up to this point, which would be embarrassing if Crowley didn’t sense that was about to seriously change.

Crowley rolls his hips up to meet Aziraphale’s slow thrusts, encouraging him to go just a little faster, and oh, it works. Aziraphale’s delicious lips part in another moan, and he build up a faster rhythm, fucking Crowley hard into the ground.

Their moans fill the quiet clearing, overpowering the crackle of the fire and the gently melody of the river a little farther on. Crowley can’t believe how beautiful Aziraphale looks like this, mouth open and eyes dark, and he tells him so. Aziraphale smiles a little disbelievingly and pushes their mouths into a desperate kiss as they fuck.

Crowley has his hands on Aziraphale’s hips and Aziraphale’s cock up his arse and he has never, never been so happy. If this is how the humans feel, he can’t imagine why they’d ever stop. Why would they ever innovate or build or form non-sexual friendships if this is how they could be with each other?

“Oh,” Aziraphale moans, “I’m going to come.”

“Going to what?” Crowley gasps.

In answer, Aziraphale thrusts his hand down between them and begins to tug gracelessly on Crowley’s cock. The loss of control on Aziraphale’s part and the wild sensations coming from all over Crowley’s body now immediately crest.

“Oh,” says Crowley, who suddenly understands.

And then they’re both coming, Aziraphale’s hips stuttering as they slam home again and again, Crowley’s whole body shaking with it. He’s crying out again, mouthing at Aziraphale’s neck, trying to express ― something, God, does it matter? Aziraphale kisses Crowley hard, licking into his mouth, and Crowley tries his best to keep up through the tremors that rip through his body as he spills out between them.

Somehow, Crowley stops moaning in pleasure. It fades a little, leaving only a blanket of contentedness in Crowley’s mind. He brushes his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, trying to convey that Aziraphale can lay on him as long as he’d like.

But Aziraphale shifts, slips out of Crowley, lies next to him on the furs instead.

Crowley can’t stop the stupid smile he’s sure is on his face, but he’s not really trying to. 

“How did you like that?” Aziraphale asks gently, but with a ghost of a smirk that tells Crowley he already knows.

“Oh, not bad, I guess,” Crowley says. “Don’t really see what all the fuss is about.”

“Oh, no?” Aziraphale says, dipping a lazy finger in the mess on Crowley’s stomach and bringing it to his mouth. Crowley is utterly mesmerized. “So you don’t want to go again?”

Crowley tackles Aziraphale back onto the furs. The angel lands on his back, laughing as Crowley straddles him.

“That was amazing,” Crowley whispers against Aziraphale’s lips. “You’re perfect, you’re― God, please kiss me, angel.”

Crowley wants to say more, but he’s not sure what the words are, what exactly this is.

They do go again, a little later, when the moon is high and the fire has died down. The moonlight on Aziraphale’s lips is the most beautiful thing Crowley has seen in all of Heaven or Earth. They fall asleep a while later, wrapped in each other’s arms.

The next day, they have breakfast together, finishing the grapes and bread, kissing between bites. It’s going to be another brutally hot day, and Aziraphale says he’s going to do a few more blessings before moving on to the next village in the afternoon.

Crowley is disappointed, but not surprised. He and Aziraphale are charged with the entire Earth, after all, not just the river bank where Crowley gave his soul to an angel.

He helps Aziraphale pack up the tent. When Aziraphale offers Crowley one of the furs, Crowley is inexplicably glad to have a piece of their night together to take with him.

“I suppose I’ll see you around, angel,” Crowley says.

“Yes, I do expect so,” Aziraphale says, smiling into a final kiss.

They depart while throwing smiling glances over their shoulders. When at last the road begins to curve behind some hills, Crowley waves a final time, already wondering how they’ll run into each other next time.

Unfortunately the world keeps changing. Crowley keeps learning about the world.

Turns out having sex is kind of a Big Deal.

Crowley already knew that; that night has singularly defined his thoughts for the last three hundred years. 

But the way humans talk about it. Well. Maybe it’s not common to engage in that act with one’s hereditary enemy.

The thought makes Crowley uneasy enough that when he next meets Aziraphale, he doesn’t immediately take him into his arms like he wants to.

“Angel!” he calls across the field.

They’re in India and it’s Diwali. It’s Mumbai, though it’s not called that yet. Nor Bombay, which it will be soon. Aziraphale is covered in yellows and blues when he makes his way over to Crowley. The powder looks ridiculous on him, streaking his face and neck, blending into green in some areas. Crowley grins. 

“Yes, well, you should see your own hair,” Aziraphale says by way of greeting. Crowley just grins wider, and Aziraphale smiles too.

“How long’ve you been here?” Crowley asks amid the singing.

“Only just arrived,” Aziraphale says. “Yourself?”

“’Bout a year and a half,” Crowley says. “I was thinking about moving on soon, but I might just have a reason to stay now.” He slips a hopeful hand into Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale jumps a little, but doesn’t remove his hand. “Oh? And what would that be?” he asks faintly.

Crowley frowns, dread already mounting. “I was hoping we could spend some time together,” he tells Aziraphale, leaning down to speak in his ear. “I missed you.”

“Oh,” says Aziraphale, and it’s pained.

“What is it?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale closes his eyes. “That can’t happen again,” he says. “What we did ― You must understand. It was very nice, but―”

Crowley pulls his hand back because he can’t stand the idea of Aziraphale doing it for him.

“Wait, let me explain,” Aziraphale says, reaching back, catching Crowley’s hand because Crowley is helpless to resist the angel for long.

Aziraphale brings Crowley’s hand to his lips and places a tender kiss there. When he releases and pulls his hand back, it’s as bad as Crowley knew it would be.

“We’re on opposite sides,” Aziraphale says simply, and doesn’t say more, because that’s it, isn’t it. That’s the whole damn problem. Only Crowley had been _happy_. Had been floating in a fog for three hundred years all because an angel spent a night under the stars with him and he’d ― yes, he’d fallen in love like an idiot.

He hadn’t had a name for it then, but when Aziraphale walks away under the cacophony of colour, Crowley knows what he’s feeling is a broken heart.

After that, things are more simple. They meet a handful of times over the years, never mention it again. If it’s a little awkward ― “Still a demon, then?” ― then they push through it, don’t look too hard at it.

Turns out the occasional drink is all right with Aziraphale, despite them being on _Opposite Sides._ Crowley is convinced he’ll get over it, that this ache in his heart will fade, until he sees Aziraphale smile at him again. He wonders if humans feel like this, like they might crack apart with every step, and he decides they must. He’s seen enough of the world at this point to know he’s experiencing an unbearably human emotion.

Things get a little more complicated when they come up with the Arrangement. It’s absolutely bending the rules, the opposite sides rules, but Aziraphale seems adamant at keeping Crowley at arms’ length.

 _Why?_ Crowley wants to shout. _Why won’t you love me?_ But of course that’s not how it works. You can’t follow someone around the world, saving them from prisons and bad reviews of their favourite plays and make them love you just from that. They either love you or they don’t.

But Crowley loves Aziraphale, has loved him all this time. He adores him with everything in his being, and would give him the world if he asked, even if he didn’t.

“Anywhere you want to go,” crosses a line, but everything they do crosses lines. Crowley’s not sure why this one is different. Anywhere you want to go, anything you like, _anything._

“You go too fast for me,” is a strange response for Aziraphale. Obviously he’s reminding Crowley to take a step back, but it might be something else too. It might be a _not now._

So Crowley waits, careful not to go too fast. Careful to keep his longing behind a pair of sunglasses and his heart tucked away.

But it’s hard. It’s hard when the world is ending and he can’t help beg his angel to run away with him. _We’re on our side,_ he insists as though that will make it true. It doesn’t.

It’s only later at the Ritz when they toast to the world and Crowley thinks a little bit to each other that Aziraphale brings it up.

“I was wondering if I might be so presumptuous as to inquire about your plans later,” Aziraphale says, patting his mouth with a napkin.

Six thousand years of pining has taught Crowley to keep his cool, though he’s relieved that Aziraphale doesn’t seem to be cutting him out of his life entirely now that they don’t need each other.

Crowley swallows down the unpleasant thought of them no longer needing each other. “Oh, you know, bit of freelance mischief, maybe. You?”

“I was hoping to turn my attentions to rectifying a very old mistake, actually,” Aziraphale says.

“Ah, don’t think you can make mistakes, angel,” Crowley says, subconsciously leaning on his elbow to gaze.

Aziraphale doesn’t seem pleased, seems deep in thought.

“The world’s saved, angel,” Crowley says with a sweeping gesture around the grand room. “Enjoy yourself.”

“May I speak plainly, Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, and without waiting for an answer (the bastard), says, “A very long time ago you and I were ― intimate. And I’ve suspected that you’d like to be again.”

Crowley swallows, his mouth very dry.

“What I don’t know is how you feel, precisely. Do you have feelings for me? Was it juts physical that one time? Am I imagining this entirely?”

“I’m in love with you,” Crowley chokes out.

He hadn’t a name to put to it then, but here ― after the end of the world ― Crowley names it for what it is. What it’s always been.

The server had been approaching with the cheque, but does a quick turnaround when she takes in the scene in front of her.

Aziraphale is silent for a moment. Then he says, very quietly, “Then I’m afraid I’ve been rather awful to you.”

Crowley shakes his head, unable to get out much anything else.

“No, I’ve been … careless with your feelings, Crowley,” Aziraphale continues. “As well as my own. You see, the mistake I’m trying to correct is actually a lot of mistakes. It’s every time I pushed you away.”

“Angel,” Crowley says, not sure what he’s hearing. He still can’t tell if Aziraphale is saying what he’s hoping he’s saying.

“Please, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, eyes bright. “Can we be together? Is that something you’re interested in? I realize I’ve hurt you, but given the chance, I―”

Aziraphale stops suddenly, as horrified as Crowley is by the sob that had just come out of Crowley’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Crowley whispers, pushing his fingers to his eyes under his glasses.

Aziraphale seems to be waiting for guidance from Crowley. He’s leaning forward, clearly concerned, but unwilling to risk making Crowley more upset.

“Do you want to go?” Aziraphale says.

Crowley nods. He’s mortified, but at least he hasn’t sobbed again. In public. Jesus.

“Can we go back to yours?” Crowley asks, so they do. Aziraphale dumps a handful of cash on the table and miraculously there’s a free taxi just outside the Ritz.

They’re shooting each other careful looks in the back of the taxi, taking turns looking out the window. It’s strange how you can know someone for thousands of years and still not know a thing.

Aziraphale unlocks the door, holds it open for Crowley, and then they’re there, looking right back into the whole damn thing.

“Would you like some tea?” Aziraphale tries.

Despite his better judgement, Crowley takes off his glasses. “Say it again, Aziraphale,” he says.

Aziraphale’s nervous energy melts away, and he steps towards Crowley. “I want us to be together,” he says. Another step. “I love you, Crowley,” he says, and throws up his arms like that’s really all there is to it. “Please say yes.”

After six thousand years ― after painfully learning the words and trying to forget them ― it seems impossible that it’s really come down to just the one word. But it has. And Crowley knows this one.

“Yes,” Crowley whispers. He takes Aziraphale’s head in his hands and brings their mouths together like he’s wanted to for ever.

Aziraphale’s mouth opens eagerly against Crowley’s, their tongues collide in the middle, they’re kissing so desperately Crowley can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t be anything other than right here, kissing his angel because he loves him.

“God, I missed you,” Crowley says between kisses. “I love you so much. You’re everything. Please, angel.” He’s babbling, unable to stop, but Aziraphale seems to love it. If he pushed any closer he’d be in Crowley’s lap, which probably shouldn’t happen because they’re both still standing.

“I missed you too,” Aziraphale says, repairing Crowley’s broken heart, one tarnished heartstring at a time. “Every day we spent together I’d think about what it would be like to be free to love you again. Let me love you, Crowley.”

“Yes,” Crowley whispers into Aziraphale’s hair. “Love me. Show me what you wanted to do.”

They’re on the floor with the windows open in the middle of the day, but they don’t care. Crowley’s not interested in waiting another second to get his hands on Aziraphale.

The only problem is that Crowley’s shaking apart at the seams as he tugs at Aziraphale’s tie, as he pushes the jacket from his shoulders. When he gets to the buttons, Aziraphale notices.

“Oh, my dear,” he says, stilling Crowley’s hands with his own.

“No, please,” Crowley begs, “I can do this.”

“Shh, darling,” Aziraphale says. “I’m not stopping.” And indeed he doesn’t. He takes Crowley’s trembling hands and presses a kiss to each palm. Then he guides Crowley’s hands to his shoulders and undoes the buttons himself while Crowley watches, dry-mouthed. When he’s done with his shirt and waistcoat, he moves on to Crowley’s clothing.

“Lie down, my love,” Aziraphale instructs, and Crowley does. He’s breathless with it as Aziraphale tenderly unwraps him, laying kisses on each new bit of exposed skin. It’s so much, it’s almost _too_ much, but Aziraphale smiles like the sun and reminds Crowley that it’s still them, they’re still each other, they don’t have to be apart now.

When they’re both finally naked, Aziraphale surprises Crowley by picking him up and carrying him with angelic strength to the bedroom.

“I think at the very least we deserve a bed,” Aziraphale says by way of explanation. Crowley’s too happy to be carried, taking the opportunity to kiss the angel’s neck.

“I remember when a few furs on the ground used to be enough for you,” Crowley teases, reeling with happiness.

Aziraphale places him on the bed and lets Crowley pull him down too. They’re both laughing into a kiss now, the lonely years falling away into dust behind them.

“It was the last time for me, you know, that bed of furs,” Aziraphale tells him. “I haven’t wanted to with anybody else.”

“God, angel,” Crowley says, choking up at the idea of that. “Me too. There’s no one else for me but you. Please.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says adoringly, brushing the side of Crowley’s face with a loving touch.

They kiss again until the heat returns. They’re pushing against each other, cocks brushing, sending Crowley closer and closer to the edge. It’s already enough, it’s already more than he’s ever wanted, but he asks anyway. “Fuck me, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitches. He nods, kissing his way down Crowley’s chest again like he did thousands of years before. He pulls out a bottle of lube and looks questioningly at Crowley.

“The humans keep coming up with the most interesting things,” he says, holding the bottle with one hand, and gently stroking Crowley with the other. “But if you’d prefer I prepared you another way…”

“The other way, please,” Crowley gasps. “Like the first time.”

Aziraphale smiles, presses a kiss to Crowley’s hipbone, and moves lower. The sensation is incredible. Crowley is reduced to tears almost immediately.

“God, angel, _please,_ angel,” he’s saying between sobs. “Oh, Aziraphale, I love you. _God._ ”

Aziraphale pushes a finger in and massages inwards. Crowley’s shaking with it, vibrating into the fourth dimension, practically. He’s a mess and he knows this, distantly. 

“Please, angel, please,” he cries.

“Oh, you feel perfect, my love,” Aziraphale tells him, adding another finger. “Crowley, you’re so good for me. You’re simply divine.”

Crowley sobs again at that. He’s grabbing at Aziraphale, trying to pull him up. It’s only because Aziraphale notices that it works at all, because Crowley’s body is barely under his control. Aziraphale brings their mouths back together and works his fingers inside Crowley and it’s suddenly too much.

“Fuck me,” Crowley pleads. “I can’t ― it’s too much, I’m going to ― I want to…”

“Shh,” Aziraphale tells him, removing his spit-slick fingers.

“I don’t want to come if you’re not in me,” Crowley manages to say.

Aziraphale’s eyes widen a little like this is an astonishing thing to say, which it is a little, if Crowley thinks about it. He certainly can’t imagine the short circuiting in his brain if Aziraphale ever said that to him.

He kisses Aziraphale hard, with all his meager heart. “Please, angel,” he whispers.

For the second time since the creation of the world, Crowley finds an angel between his legs, pushing into him with the heat of a thousand suns. He’s struck by it, how long he’s wanted this, how many silent prayers have just been answered. It’s incredible that somehow Aziraphale wants him back.

They move together as though they were meant to. Crowley’s straining up to kiss as much of Aziraphale’s mouth as he can, swallowing the angel’s moans, making his own. “I love you” is said again and again until Crowley doesn’t know who’s saying it anymore, just that he’s glowing, he’s dying, he’s lost in Aziraphale like he’s always wanted to be.

Afterwards, they hold each other, wrapped up in love and relief that it went right when they could have spent another six thousand years apart or worse.

“How did you put it that time?” Aziraphale says as they bask in each other. “That thing the humans do?”

“Is that what I said?” asks Crowley, who remembers that night perfectly, but only, apparently, what Aziraphale’d said.

“Mmm-hmm,” Aziraphale says. “And I was happy to show you all the human things I’d discovered.”

“This one is particularly good.”

“Is that it, then?” Aziraphale asks. “Any more I can show you, or are you done with me for good now?”

Aziraphale is teasing, but Crowley is still going too fast. “No,” he says, “there’s one more you can do with me.”

“And what’s that?”

“The one humans do together when they promise to share their lives together,” Crowley says, watching Aziraphale’s reaction carefully. “When they say it before God because they want Her to know they love each other. There’s still that one you can show me,” Crowley says, swallowing nervously. “Sometime.”

Aziraphale has gone very still, but Crowley’s holding his breath. He’s already got everything he’s ever wanted, why not push his luck like he’s always done.

Aziraphale gives a strange breath of a laugh and reaches over Crowley to open the dresser drawer. He comes back with a bit of gold and all the wonders of the universe.

“Then perhaps,” Aziraphale says, holding the ring out carefully towards Crowley, “perhaps you would wear this.”

Crowley watches in absolute astonishment as Aziraphale slides the ring onto his fourth finger. It doesn’t make him love the angel any more or less, but it makes him feel a little more human, which is what they are, he supposes.

“Sure angel,” he says, “anything you like.”


End file.
